


Industrial Abundance

by yossarianlives



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Gen, Train Heist, Trains, swindling, what the gang does best really!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26569987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yossarianlives/pseuds/yossarianlives
Summary: In which Kaz Brekker is made a very hard offer to refuse, and the security of Kerch Industrial Rail is put to the test.
Kudos: 8





	Industrial Abundance

**Author's Note:**

> so the eagle eyed may notice that this is *almost* entirely ripped off from the train robbery sequence from breaking bad lol but robbing a train is absolutely something the crows would do so enjoy.

A pervasive, early morning fog had settled over the rail line. Small canals bordered the route on each side, the grey waters so still they more resembled long slabs of dark glass. The cast iron had been built to last, to withstand the harshest of Kerch weather, and even worse. Whispers of an oncoming train might have been felt, should one deign to touch the weathered, utilitarian steel, feel the industrial rumbling, vibrations promising trade. Slatted wood incised the metal at intervals, stretching on over the horizon. A rabbit made a dive across the line. Somewhere in the distance, a hen harrier called. All was calm.

Someone was standing on the track. A young man, clad all in black. It was hard to pick him out in the gloom of the fog - he was practically invisible save for a sparse three foot radius, such was the density of the mist. A cane tapped on the wood as he surveyed the track. The portion in question stood elevated, creating a bridge over a small ravine. It was marshy, wet land, no good for building on, escaping the tendrils of the encroaching industry of the city. Even though one was a mere stone’s throw away from Ketterdam, it felt like a different province. 

An experienced eye might have noticed a disturbance of the mucky soil underneath the bridge. A solid four foot by five foot radius of the ground was a slightly different colour, having been disrupted recently. Instead of a tar-like, black composition, the mud was a lighter brown, perhaps even rising slightly above what surrounded it. A small pipe protruded from the agitated earth, and the smartly dressed man leaned down to inspect it, peering at it and its surroundings. After a moment he appeared to finish his survey, and went on his way, eyes glinting. 

*

The fires of the Slat burned already as Kaz Brekker made his way back through the place, a marked contrast to the bitter cold of the streets outside. The wind of the winter morning in Ketterdam was beginning to grow teeth, and by evening, liable to snap you up in its glacial maw and spit you back out again, snatching away any semblance of warmth. He made his way to a nondescript meeting room, closing the door behind him firmly. Five faces peered back at him, as he set a map down on the table before him.

“Everything is ready. All that’s left is to put the plan into motion.”

*

As with most things, money had been the catalyst.

A very tempting offer had been floated over the Blackjack tables of the Crow Club. Kaz had been deep in concentration, sweat gathering on his brow when the man across the table had made the proposal. He was nervy, looking around himself as if he might be rewarded for the bid with a knife to the back. Kaz had been waiting for him to seek out the services of the Dregs for some time now, mildly surprised he hadn’t come sooner. A farmer of cash crops - flax and barley among them - in the fertile alluvial lands north of Ketterdam. Marius Dawne was a rare sort in the fact that he was as honest as a businessman could be, farmer or not. This approach, admittedly, had not propelled him to the heights of wealth like some of his peers, but he had eked out a comfortable living for himself all the same.

Dawne had slowly made his way through the city’s gangs, turned down at every door, in the market for a crew to carry out a very particular job, with very particular conditions. He found himself at the doorstep of the Crow Club, and explained the situation over the Blackjack table.

The current crop of flax had been attacked viciously by fierce pests known as armyworms, scourgely little beings that ate away the flax stems and buds, drastically stunting growth. Insecticides and pesticides were a fiercely monitored and competitive industry, but Dawne had sought the services of a chemist who could synthesise a highly effective solution. The only ingredient they wanted for was methylamine, a highly regulated chemical one would need a license to operate with. Dawne made it clear with his twitchy manner and wide eyes that he did not have time for license applications and bureaucracy. He needed the pesticide now.

He regaled this tale of woe to Kaz, who continued dealing disinterestedly, his expression betraying no sign that he had even been listening. 

“My heart bleeds for you. Is there a particular thing you wanted from me, Mr. Dawne?” he said, shuffling the deck and staring at the now very flustered Marius Dawne.

“Well, I was just- I was getting to that. None of the other gangs in the city are willing to take on the job. They say it’s impossible, that I’m wasting their time. I want you to steal 900 gallons of the methylamine from the KIR. No witnesses, but please no murder. I will not pay if you are to murder.”

Kaz had listened with a fervent curiosity. This man was surely joking. Stealing 900 gallons from a moving Kerch Industrial Rail train was not where Kaz’s stipulations began, but the farmer’s ridiculous insistence on a clean heist. Kaz Brekker had been in the game long enough to know that there were two kinds of heists - the kind where the crew got away with it, and the kind where no blood was shed. He eyed Dawne.

“And you’re willing to pay an extra 10 million Kruge for the train operators to be left alive? Quite the humanitarian. That’s why no one else will take this job? They think it’s impossible?” Kaz asked.

Dawne stood and gathered his coat, “If you’re not interested I-”

“Sit down. I said that they think it’s impossible. I didn’t say I thought it was.”

*

The meeting with his gathered crew had devolved into a heated discussion in record time. 

Jesper had simply laughed at the prospect of robbing 900 gallons of chemical fluid off of a moving train, all without alerting the conductors and raising no alarms. 

“The money’s finally gotten to your head, Kaz. How would you be able to enjoy it rotting in a cell in Hellgate? The minute that train stops, alarms will be raised from here to Belendt, and we’ll all have the pleasure of being chased through a gungy swamp by the Stadwatch. Not how I would like to spend my evening.” he said, brows raised, hands placed idly on his revolvers.

Kaz stayed silent, merely nodding to Inej, who produced a map and spread it over the table.

“There exists a dead zone, about three miles long, just outside the city. No alarms, no communication of any kind. This would be where we’d strike.” she said, running a finger down the pencilled in line on the sheet.

“But, these freight trains - they can extend for miles at a time. How would we know which tanker housed the chemicals?” Wylan asked. 

"I have a contact in KIR who can get the information to us, with six hours notice." Kaz answered.

“And we’re assuming that the company won’t notice that the tank is almost a 1000 gallons lighter?” Jesper asked incredulously.

“We’’ll be long gone by then.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do if we leave witnesses who can attest to a robbery. They’ll be on anyone who even has a whiff of methylamine like dogs to offal. And you really think your client won’t squeal when the hand comes down on him?”

It was a great point, and the others conceded, agreeing with the sharpshooter.

“I’ve heard some ridiculous things in my time, but thi-” Nina started, but was cut off abruptly. 

“What if we didn’t have to leave the tank lighter,” Kaz said, looking down at the map, a look of intense concentration on his face.

“It’s a marsh we’re travelling through - if we could lay two tanks underground beforehand, fill one up with water, putting that into the tank while we remove the methylamine from the bottom,”

“Won’t anyone notice the dilution? It’s a lot of water to put in,” Matthias asked.

Before Kaz could answer, it was Wylan who chimed in, “Actually, since methylamine is about nine tenths as dense as pure water, it will actually seem like there’s more in the tank than there is. With regards to the dilution, the buyers will simply blame the Ravkan suppliers. It helps that there’s an unprecedented demand for it,” he said.

“Not to put a damper on the whole affair, but how will we actually get the train to stop? Hold out a thumb and hope for a lift?” Nina smirked, obviously in jest, but Kaz paused.

“Actually Nina, that could be exactly what we need to do,”

*

“Everything is ready. All that’s left is to put the plan into motion”

The weather at least, had been on their side. The air was cool and settled, retaining still a hint of bite in the breeze from the cold of the night that had passed. The flat marsh stretched out before the six, the train track extending, meeting the line of the horizon. The stillness was not interrupted, but slowly corrupted, by an intense droning vibration along the track, starting out as a miniscule hum, as if some insect had buzzed around your ear. Almost indetectable, until the low purr of the steel got louder. Soon enough, the tell-tale sound of the train whistle was audible across the flat land.

Jesper and Matthias sat before Kaz, crouched under the bridge and weighed down with lengths of hose, mirror images of each other staring up through the planks, awaiting the oncoming train. Nina and Wylan were situated on the track above the bridge, a carefully calculated 400 yards away, in order to ensure the chemical tanker stopped at the precise location on the bridge. Inej looked on, peering from out of the branches of a nearby birch tree. She raised her binoculars and focused on the oncoming KIR locomotive. A quick hand motion signalled to Kaz that the train was in sight. Producing a small tin whistle from his coat, he blew into it in a series of three short bursts. 

*

Wylan paced alongside the track, the marshy grass soft underfoot. Nina sat inside the plush motorcar, unbothered by the rapidly approaching steam powered train.

“Relax, Wylan. There’ll be plenty of time to move out of the way if the blasted thing doesn’t look like it’s going to stop.” she said, studying her nails.

“I know, I know,” he replied, looking down the line, the steam train miniscule in the distance. 

“Get ready. Any minute now,” Nina stepped out from the motor car and stood between two of the track’s wooden planks, Wylan coming to stand beside her.

Three short bursts. The signal travelled quickly through the still air.

Together, they frantically shouted and waved their arms, two moving figures silhouetted against a low winter sun.

*

Another signal from Inej. Nina and Wylan were in place. Kaz blew into his whistle thrice more, and the three young men under the bridge held their breath, watching the moving tankers above them. 

“I can’t believe I let you talk Nina and I into this, demjin,” Matthias practically spat, “The train has been passing for two minutes now, well past where it needs to be, and Nina is up there in danger,” 

“Spare me, druskelle,” Kaz snapped, standing up and beginning to move the topsoil off the buried tanks.

“Oh ye of little faith, you really think they won’t just jump out of the way if the train doesn’t slow?”  
Jesper interjected, shifting the weight of the hose from his right to left shoulder. 

The train really was beginning to slow down, to Matthias’ relief and Kaz’s mirth. The locomotive ground along the track at about running pace, the various tanks, trailers and carriages trundling by in uniform measure. The three were framed by the shadow, and somewhere near, the familiar call of the hen harrier sounded.

*

Inej was used to sitting in tight spaces. Sitting in tight spaces, standing, hanging by her fingertips. She was used to high places - rooves, ledges, sills, even the top of spire once or twice. She knew these places, could balance on the edge of a seventh story eave as easy as perching on one of the Crow Club’s wooden barstools. But this was certainly a new experience.  
Balancing fairly precariously for someone of her ability on a birch branch was new. Not hard, but not easy. Compared to say, a flagpole - while it protruded from a building, it was still a rigid body of metal - the birch branch bent and swayed in the breeze, the bark dug into her palms, the leaves were prone to obscuring her vision of both scenes of the bridge and the motorcar. It was a challenge, but Inej Ghafa was not averse to a challenge.

The faint shouts of Wylan and Nina ceased, and the train came to a definite, final halt, not far from where Nina stood, by the looks of it. Inej acted quickly, drawing a small, tin whistle to her lips and giving the signal - one long, note on the whistle that resounded across her surroundings.

*

“Go!” Kaz barked, before the note had even ceased, and the three of them leapt into action.

*

If Nina’s heart was hammering just as hard as Wylan’s was, she didn’t show it.

After the most agonising 30 seconds ever spent, in which she thought the locomotive was going to run through the car and both of them, it came to a final, screeching halt not six feet from where she stood.

The train operators got out from the cab and approached the broken down car.

“Oh, good gracious, thank the Saints,” she said, launching into the routine she and Wylan had prepared, only half pretending when she took deep breaths and wiped the sweat from her brow.

“Talk about rotten luck,” she said, gesturing to the broken down motorcar situated smack dab in the middle of the train track. 

Wylan, also seemingly recovered enough, added to the ruse, “Our utmost thanks for stopping, Sirs. We’re terribly sorry to disturb you like this, but even should our engine be unsalvageable, we could use assistance in moving this out of the way.”

“Any idea as to what’s wrong with it?” one of them asked.

“I have no earthly idea. We were driving along and then, it just pittered out. We’re so sorry to interrupt you like this,” Wylan answered.

“Would either one of you know about engines? Oh, of course you do! That’s why they call you engineers!” Nina beamed, starting towards the beached motorcar.

“Eh, we’re not sure we quite have time…It would really best suit everyone if we just helped you push it off the track” one of the operators answered, and Nina deftly stuffed one of the car’s seat pillows under her skirts.

“Oh, Ghezen,” she groaned, clutching her middle, prompting Wylan to materialise at her side supporting one arm.

“I’m four months along now,” she hissed, and she and the merchling turned around.

“My precious wife, she carries our child. We need to reach Belendt by dark. I beg for your assistance, kind sirs” Wylan implored, Nina grimacing and groaning on his arm, the picture of a young family in turmoil.

Whether it was due to a personal empathy with their situation, or a simple act of kindness,  
the two operators shared a look before sighing and trudging over to the car’s engine. If it was a rare act even outside the city of Ketterdam, it would have been unheard of inside its limits.

*

Jesper Fahey was not physically weak. Nor did he consider himself to be particularly brawny, but hauling 150lbs of industrial hosing up the bank of a salt marsh proved to be a touch beyond his limits. Sweat gathered at the nape of his neck despite the cool early temperature, and he had yet to pull the hose up the ladder on the side of the chemical tanker. Another three short whistles from Kaz and he scrambled up the rungs, dead weight on his back and all. The shining, galvanised steel bolts of the tanker’s lid greeted him, and he got to work unscrewing, and unscrewing, and unscrewing, until finally, it came loose. He attached the hose terminal, screwing it in place, and it was all he could do to wait. Presumably Matthias must have done the same below him, as Kaz was now glued with dead-eyed concentration to the fluid meter. 

He sat back on the top of the train carriage, casting his eyes in a slow circuit of the surrounding area. He had to admit, if he hadn’t been currently sitting astride a train illegally siphoning highly regulated chemicals into a buried tank, the scene of the moors to the north of Ketterdam made for a picturesque view. He couldn’t make out Nina and Wylan’s motorcar, and wondered how much time they had left. The train had at least stopped, the operators hopefully acquiescing to their plight.

He ran a hand over his hair, the texture travelling over his palms calming his nerves slightly. It had been some job finding a mechanic in Ketterdam who could render a motorcar completely useless, all without leaving any clue as to what was actually wrong with it. When he did find one - a shrewd and savvy piece of work who knew his way all too well around a haggle - he ended up parting with a lot more money than he intended to, no counting on Kaz to compensate him of course. Nothing a clean 5 million Kruge wouldn’t straighten out, of course. 

Below him, the meter was filling up by the second.

*

“Have you any idea what’s wrong with it?” Wylan asked, wringing his hands to hide the tremble, the ‘pregnant’ Nina behind him.

“Not a damn notion. How old did you say this was?” the engineer asked.

“Barely a year,” Nina answered absently, eyes trained on the patch of birch Inej hid in.

“There’s nothing to be done now except push it, I’m afraid” one of the engineers said, “We have a train to drive, and we need to get to the Ketterdam trainyard by this evening.”

“We are truly sorry, Sir and Madam.” the other apologised.

Nina and Wylan shared a look. 

“Of course, Sirs. May I help you push?” Wylan said, making his way to the back wheels.

The three of them put their backs into it, but to no avail. The motorcar would not budge for love nor money. The weights had worked then, Wylan thought, triumphantly. The train operators seemingly started to get annoyed, but before they could speak another word, Wylan’s heart promptly dropped to the ground.

Another motorcar was making its way towards them.

“Thank Ghezen,” one engineer sighed, the relief almost palpable. Wylan hoped that the rising wave of his terror was not. 

“Whatever happened here?” the driver said, surveying the scene. 

“Botched roadside assistance?” said Nina, earning a glare from the train engineers.

“We need you to use your motorcar to push this vehicle off the track. Time is of the essence.”

“Of course, of course,” the other driver said, getting back in and starting his engine. 

Nina and Wylan looked at each other again, both praying to whatever Saints were listening that Inej could see what was happening. 

*

200, 300, 400.

The meter was filling up fast, although Kaz still willed it to go faster. An odd calm had settled over the vicinity, Jesper and Matthias in their respective positions, the rumble of the water and methylamine both entering and leaving the tank making up for the absence of the roar of the moving train. 

600, 700…

He very nearly missed the whistle signal, but came back to reality just as Inej started it again. Two prolonged bursts, code to abandon the train and get out fast. Kaz whipped his head around and checked the wheels. They were stationary, silent. He turned back to the meter. 

800…

*

Four more bursts. Inej was getting agitated now. The doctored motorcar was now off the track, Nina, Wylan and the train engineers graciously thanking the kind stranger. The engineers were getting back in the cab. No sign of Kaz stopping. Two more bursts. The bastard of the barrel didn’t even turn his head.

Inej was furious. She scrambled down from the tree, running into the incline.

“Kaz!” she yelled, and this finally got his attention. He whipped around, startled. “Ine-” he started, but she cut him off.

“They’re back in the cab, Kaz. Get Jesper and Matthias out now,” she said sternly, but Kaz had turned back to the meter. 

847…

“Kaz, _now!_ ” Inej shouted again, and he held up a gloved hand.

Time seemed suspended in the seconds it took for the white numbers on the black background to shift from 899 to 900. Inej vaguely remembered starting up the hill to warn the other two, before Kaz had shouted “Go! Get out! Now! Now!”

She could see the Jesper’s silhouette spring into action, tearing the hose out from the terminal, a plume of water ascending in an arc with the path of the falling hose, screwing the cap back in without a hitch. Jesper made his way halfway down the ladder, leaping the rest of the way, landing with the grace of a cat some distance away from Kaz and Inej.

*

Matthias however, invisible from where Inej stood, had encountered a problem.

The stiff, unoiled screws were proving more than a little difficult to restore given his time limit, not aided by the fact he was crouched under an industrial train that was beginning to rumble into action.

He cursed himself, he cursed his gods, but most of all, Kaz Brekker, the reason he was going to die mashed to death by a freight train in a filthy Kerch swamp. The situation was almost laughable, he thought, fumbling with the lid, and finally affixing it back onto the tank. He could still hear the bastard shouting, and his heart stopped when the train began to move in earnest, much too fast to slip out between the wheels. Instincts kicked in, and he simply lay back, frozen against the tracks, waiting for the inevitable stray pipe or gear to disembowel him. Any second now…

...and nothing. The train had passed. The sun blinded him, and he sat up, his heart beating a hole through his chest, staring at the filthy swamp he could never imagine to be so happy to see.

*

The adrenalin of the robbery had been contagious, laughter, hoots of triumph and back slapping filled the air. Even Kaz had managed a smile, blink and one would miss it, of course. 

“You were willing to let Matthias possibly get run over by a freight train for a few extra gallons of methylamine?” Wylan asked, eyes wide.

“All or nothing, merchling,” Kaz replied, sidestepping Matthias' attempt at a shove. “I’m sure he can weep into his money later.”

*

Rudder Assenberg angrily tossed the letter onto his desk. The sixth this week. Pesticide manufacturers, from Novyi Zem to Shu Han, had been after him for the latest batch of methylamine. Diluted. Useless. A scam. He had people calling him a con man. A con man! As if any con man worth his salt would pull something as desperately pedestrian as diluting product. Curse those thieving Ravkans. Assenberger and Sons, Ltd. would not stand for it any more. He called his assistant into the office.

“Nagel, we need a new supplier of methylamine. None of that cheap Ravkan swill anymore. One more bad sale and I’ll be in the red”

“Yes Sir.”

Assenberger got up and looked out the window at the Ketterdam skyline. Somewhere over the rooftops, 30 million Kruge had made its way to a dingy, tumbledown house the less savoury among us might have christened “The Slat”

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> i just pretended ketterdam has some early form of car, hope it wasn't too immersion breaking!


End file.
